


ring.

by padlockandpastels



Category: Heathers, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/F, Overdose, Phone Calls, Suicide, angsty, implied self harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 07:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padlockandpastels/pseuds/padlockandpastels
Summary: Heather gives her girlfriend one last call.





	ring.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for this. This,,,isn't a pleasant fic. Honestly I should be known in this fandom as the person who can't write one happy Heathers fic.

Her hands aren't shaking yet when they land on her phone. The coiling white wire falls off the night stand, next to the empty pill bottle, and sways. Heather swallows. Her throat is dry. Like fucking chalk. It's dry. Everything else hasn't set in yet.

She decided on this instead of a suicide note. How sad are those? You spend your last few moments sobbing into a piece of paper. At least with this, you're going out happily. Oblivious. Her mind is dizzy, perhaps she hasn't thought it out. It's so late. A part of her realizes she isn't going to see the next sunrise.

McNamara barely noticed the phone had stopped ringing.

"Hello?" It's bored. It's Heather Chandler.

The cheerleader manages a wiry smile. "Hey." It's a sigh. Relieved? The first emotion she's experienced in weeks.

"What's up?" There's a brush, the sound of paper turning. Of course. It's nine a clock' at night. Heather's reading magazines.

"Nothing." Overdosing. "What about you?"

"Just reading these crappy fashion tips." The Queen Bee crinkled her nose, idly snapping a neon page back.

Heather nods, eyes slipping closed. "The magazines you subscribed too, right?"

"Yeah, the ones you come to my house to read, dork." She huffed. A pause. Heather's stomach turned. "So, why'd you call?"

"No-no reason." She swallowed. Was her room always this cold? "Just, wanted to say hi I guess." What would she normally do? The blonde attempted a bored sigh.

"Yeah. . ." Her girlfriend hummed, semi interested. "So, what are you doing this summer?"

"Nothing much." I won't be around to experience it.

"Great." There's a shift, Chandler sat up, magazine landing on her blankets. It's audible through the phone. "Because my Mom is dragging me on this stupid camping trip and she said I could bring someone."

"Lucky me." It's a bitter giggle. Heather hated camping. It didn't matter, though.

"So, you in?"

"Course." She breathed. Her heart was thumping. She was freezing, but beads of sweat were growing on her forehead. She rolled over on her back, free scarred arm hitting her yellow sheets. Her bird chirped from the other side of the room at the thud.

Chandler's grinning and she doesn't need to be there in person to see it. Heather breathed. When was the last time she had seen Chandler in person? Oh. Oh. School. School. Mere days ago. Her mind moved slow. Perhaps McNamara hadn't realized that would be the last day she would see her girlfriend in person. A part of her snapped at the thought.

"..Heather?"

The yellow girl stuttered, ears ringing. Had she said something? Had she missed it. "Huh? Shit-did-did you say something?"

There's a laugh, laced with general confusion. "Yeah, I asked if you want to go to dinner tomorrow."

That sounded fantastic. "I can't." An aching pinpoint of pain spiked in her gut, like a cramp.

"Why?" It's a nod of disappointment.

"I'm—my-my dad's—" get it together, Heather. Breath. Stable. "He's back in town for the week." Lie. He wouldn't be back in town for another month. "He wants to see a movie, I think." Lie. Heather hadn't seen a film with her Dad since freshmen year.

"Ugh, alright. We'll reschedule. But only because it's you." The sweetest you're going to get with Chandler.

She gives a gentle giggle when she really wants to sob. "Sounds great. What'd you do today?" She has to bite her lip to stop it from being a tired slur.

This.

This is starting to hurt.

She turns back on her side, phone in one hand, other slowly wrapping around her stomach, knees rising up.

She hears Chandler talking, but she's too dazed to make out the words. Something about Duke. Something about rumors. About Remington parties and things Mac's never going to see again. But it let's her be quiet. To relish in the one thing she wanted to hear before it went dark. Chandler. Heather. Even if it was just her voice.

The teen gave a sudden groan as a wave of bitter nausea hit her. The line went quiet.

"You alright?"

Shit. Fuck. How did she play this off? What did Heather think? God, she probably thought she was getting off to this. She wasn't. This wasn't that type of phone call. Quite the opposite, tonight.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. Sorry, what were you saying? Something about Courtney?"

"Ugh, yeah. Anyway—"

A breathe. Safe for now. The ache in her gut mixed with a migraine. She's sweating now, having to take off her dusted blazer into a night shirt. She leaves the speaker on as she had staggered to her feet to change. Did the floor always tilt that way? She almost puked going to her closet.

And she does puke. The phone lines muted but it isn't that much of a problem because Chandler is rambling anyway. And it's a weird thing to listen to when you're dry heaving into a trash can.

She settled on her bed. Shaking. Fucking god. A whimper escaped her lips. Everything ached. A choked sobbed escaped her lips when she couldn't hold it back, knees pressed to her chest.

Her girlfriend is talking about what nail polish she's going to wear for prom.

Prom.

Heather decides to focus on that thought instead of the stabbing in her abdomen.

What would have prom looked like? She was sure Chandler would look nice. She always looked nice. But nicer than normal then. Chandler had bought her dress, it was red. Practically stunning. It took Mac's breath away, at least.

Chandler thought the other had already purchased a dress of her own. Because that's what Mac had told her. The blonde hadn't bought a dress. She knew two weeks ago that she wouldn't need one.

But, she had already bought tickets. At least the taller of the duo was hanging on to them. Huh. Who could Chandler go with now? Maybe Veronica? The girl had just gone through a harsh breakup with that Jason fellow. At least she'd have someone to keep her company. She didn't want Chandler to be alone after she left, after all.

A second and she nearly had to dive over the side of her bed. Oh. There was red in her trashcan now. Dizzily, she reached for the tissues on her bedside table. Shaking. Had she always shook this much? She wiped at her chin and mouth, limply tossing it into the waste. Her face was flushed. Exhausted.

"What do you think? Which shoes sound better?"

She's startled awake without even being asleep. Heather slipped, pressing a cold finger to the unmute button. Her breath in stuck in her throat. "The first pair. Hey, um, babe?"

"Hm?" It's a hum. Content. Nothing unusual, after all.

"I—" her vision is blurry and she had to lay down. "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

"Ugh, alright. It's so early." It's almost a whine. There's a pause. The queen of Westerburg turns to her clock. "It's only 10. Since when do you go to bed so early? Did you take some sleeping pills, or something?" It's a bitter joke, but it makes Mac's blood go frozen. It was well known the girl had insomnia. That's where she had got the supply of pills currently in her gut, after all.

"A few."

A whole bottle.

Chandler shifted. "I thought you were gonna stop taking those? Don't they make you like, super out of it in the morning."

"As long as they get me to sleep, it's fine."

They were gonna do their job alright.

"Okay. If you say so." Was that concern? "Night, princess."

That's the last nice thing she gets to hear. "Night." She has to press a hand to her lips so Heather can't hear she's crying when she hangs up.

A cheerleader somewhere falls asleep sobbing, breathing drawing to a close.

A mere mile away, a red teenage girl is flipping through fashion magazines while listening to some stupid top 40 song. Her eyes gingerly swipe up as the lights of an ambulance pass by her window. Huh. It kinda looked like it was going down Heather McNamara's street. Weird.


End file.
